That night, Rudy was more talkative than usual. It was only after an hour of laying in bed that the guy finally drifted off, his soft snores filling the room.
Michael smiled wryly. His friend was clearly still reeling from the news he heard today.
Between finding out Michael had almost died, to the news those responsible for his family's death was in custody—his emotions had been pulled from pillar to post.
Of course, Michael's day had been far more painful than his friend's. Yet he still found himself consoling the guy—causing him to let out a small chuckle.
As he lay in bed staring at the ceiling, he remembered the dream he'd had while unconscious. His mother's words, her warm embrace—they had felt so real.
"Trust your soul... Let it guide you."
Michael frowned, not knowing the meaning of the words. His soul was not its own entity—it was part of him.
What did she even mean by that? He thought, exhaling with some frustration.
